Blackwood
by kalopsia1
Summary: When Sherlock meets Alexa, it isn't for the first time. The only thing is, she doesn't realise it. Fate has brought them back together, bringing her to live in 221C, below the boys. But will it end up tearing them apart again? Sherlock/OC
1. I've Seen You Before

**Hi! Thank you for clicking on my story :)  
**

 **I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

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 _ **ONE: I'VE SEEN YOU BEFORE  
**_

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Alexa Blackwood cursed under her breath. Her phone hit the pavement with a crack, a crack that signalled exactly what had happened to the glass of the screen. Swallowing the huge lump in her throat that threatened to strangle her, she crouched down and turned it over, to see a shattered spider web of glass. Drops of water clung to it from the rain. She pressed the home screen. The home screen looked like a 3D movie without the glasses.

First off, it had been losing her Oyster card, the one thing that let a person get around on London public transport. She didn't have the cash for a taxi, and she definitely didn't have a car. Another thing she was in dire need of was an umbrella. Or even a hood. And now it was coming down in cats and dogs, and she was soaked straight through. Alexa took out the soggy newspaper clipping of a flat advertisement, to check the address. Now she was lost, and without the aid of the digital map in her phone. Could things get any worse?

It was like life was out to get her. All she was trying to do was find a flat before the first term of university started, and it had sounded like an amazing deal – something so cheap in such a good area, so close to the university building, it was practically a steal. She was sure it would live up to her extremely low expectations, if she could just find the bloody thing.

The streets were desolate. It was strange, but London was like that. She was only a few streets away from a street that was plagued with shops and hipster cafes and bars, and now there wasn't another soul in sight. The only sign that she wasn't completely alone on Earth was the city's rhythmic humming, the sounds of cars and trains and people, all going about their business. Alexa saw her victim (the first other person she saw), and made a bee-line across the road to them.

"Excuse me, sorry, but, do you know where Baker Street is?"

The woman gave her a look of complete distaste from under the warmth of her umbrella. Silently, she motioned to the corner behind her, signalling a left.

"Thanks, thanks. Sorry." Her voice was breathy from the sudden exercise.

The warm glow of Speedy's was a beacon of hope in the dismal gloom. She rushed past the dark navy door of 219, and straight to 221.

Alexa knocked once. Waited. The rain battered her, and she stood to the side, underneath the red canopy of Speedy's. No one answered, so she leaned forward, and knocked again. Shifted and jumped from foot-to-foot, in an attempt to keep warm. She glanced into the café, her mouth subconsciously watering at the sight of the hot food and tea. God, she could do with a cup of tea right now.

Still, no answer. Stirrings of annoyance began in the bottom of her stomach. There was no way that she had come all this way for no answer! She gave another knock, more aggressive and pointed than the others. People in the café were starting to look at her funny. Alexa waited another minute.

Gritting her teeth, she stepped forward and tried the door. Unlocked. She stepped inside, instantly greeted with warmth and the stench of sulfur. Wasn't that the smell of the devil?

"Hello?" She called out, closing the door behind her. Alexa became aware of shouting coming from upstairs, two men, by the sounds of it. Curiousity and a sudden apprehension battled it out inside her, as she took a cautious step forward, looking up at the narrow wooden staircase. "I-I just came straight in. No-one answered and –"

"Mrs Hudson!" A short blonde man came steaming out of the door. "He's only bloody gone and done it again!"

The rage in his eyes faltered when he saw her. For a moment, his face went pink with embarrassment. She was the first to speak.

"Er, hello." Alexa croaked, "I'm here about the, er, the flat?"

"The flat?" His brow creased, frown lines digging in deep.

"I think we're looking for the same person. I'm here to see Mrs Hudson, but it was raining and no-one was answering so I thought maybe she couldn't hear me over the rain?" Her excuses came sputtering out as she inched her sodden gloves off her hands.

He looked completely taken aback. "Sorry, which flat is this?"

"Two-two-one C. God, that's in this building, isn't it?" Her eyebrows pulled together. "I haven't come into the wrong one, have I?"

"No, no." A warm smile grew across his face. "I just didn't know it existed until now."

"John!" A baritone shout from the flat above, and they both turned to look at the source.

Alexa smiled. "That your boyfriend?"

His face was beetroot red. "What? Wha – no! No! God, no!"

This only embarrassed her. "Oh shit, sorry. Really, I didn't mean that –"

"It's the jumper, isn't it?" He took a moment to compose himself, and then shook his head. "I'm John. John Watson." John outstretched a hand towards her.

"Alexa Blackwood. Pleased to meet you." She grinned. "And the jumper's fine."

"John, for God's sake, I –"

There was a man stood at the top of the stairs, seemingly taken out of his stride by the sight of a stranger in the hallway.

"Are you a client?" His voice was low and rich.

She frowned. "A client?"

"No, she's here about the flat." John explained to him, as the man made his way down. He was wearing a white shirt under a navy blue dressing gown, lab goggles disrupting his unruly curls. He analysed her almost harshly, obviously not shy to look at every inch of her in detail. His eyes seemed to comb her long dark hair and her contrasting green eyes, her clothes that now clung to her frame, and her even-toned skin that had splatters of dark freckles thrown across it.

He glanced at John. "What flat?"

"Two-Two-One C." John replied, folding his arms and looking back at Alexa. "She's looking for Mrs Hudson."

He made a low sound of agreement, his eyes lingering on her face, which she now remembered was wet with rain, her hair clung to her head. Her blood rushed to the surface of her skin, realising that she looked like a drowned rat.

He took a sharp intake of breath that almost made her jump. "No, she won't do."

Alexa swallowed. "Sorry?"

But he was talking to John. "She's far too high maintenance. She'll never cope with the damp."

"Do I look high maintenance to you?" She gestured to her soaked figure.

"Sherlock, can you shut up for a minute? You don't even know her."

"Yes I do. And I'm telling you that _she won't do_."

Then the door to the right of them was opening. Everyone turned to see an elderly lady appear in front of them.

"Oh, hello. You must be Alexa." Her eyes crinkled in a smile as she pottered over to her, splitting up the boys. "I see you've already met the boys?"

The tall man rolled his eyes. "She's totally unsuitable, Mrs Hudson. Just look at her socks, for God's sake!"

"My socks?" Alexa felt thoroughly harassed, glancing down at the black ankle socks glimpsing out of her white trainers.

"They're _ironed_." He stressed. "Who on Earth irons their socks?!"

She flushed again. "I like the feeling."

"Not to mention careless. What about your phone? How many times have you done that? I'll tell you – three. Residue glue left over from new screen fittings. That's a brand new model too. Only came out four months ago. Three breakages in four months on such an expensive phone? Not only are you careless, you're ungrateful and spoilt."

Her eyes went wide. The silence was thick in the hallway, as John sighed and licked his lips. Then she started to laugh. The man cocked his head, John frowning deeply.

"You really are brilliant, aren't you? I bet you're popular down the pub."

John snorted as the man's head reared back in confusion. Mrs Hudson tutted and took a gentle hold of Alexa's wrist.

"Now, dearie, would you like to see the flat?"

The flat was nothing much – scratch that, it was nothing. Because it was underground there was a persistent damp in the right corner of the bit that faced out onto the front. At least the back of it was a bit better. There was an excuse of a yard that could be accessed from glass and wood patio doors in the back of the kitchen, which was a small paved square with walls, that backed out onto the alleyway, where the bins were. But it was big, and cheap, and she got her own space. Co-habitation really wasn't her thing.

"What do you think? It's really not much, and to be honest, I'm not sure if the damp can be sorted out."

"You have to compromise, though, don't you?" She turned back around to Mrs Hudson and gave her a winning smile. "When can I move in?"

It was the last of the summer when the removal van showed up on Baker Street. The driver played summer party tunes out of the front of the van. She looked up to the window of what she now knew to be 221B, and saw only the flicker of a curtain.

John came sprinting down the steps when he saw. He was breathless and smiling when he got to her.

"Hi!" He tried to steady himself on the pavement. "So you got over the damp, then?"

"Well, you win some, you lose some. I'm going to try and fix it, but it really doesn't bother me all that much."

"Can I help with the boxes?"

Her face lit up. "That'd be great, thank you!"

When they were finished, Alexa threw herself back onto the raggedy second-hand couch that angled into the corner next to the fireplace.

"This is exactly the same layout as ours."

"So you only have one bedroom?" She gave him a joking look. They were both encased in a layer of light sweat. Not too heavy that it was overbearing or uncomfortable, just a gentle reminder of their exercise of hauling boxes up and down stairs.

"Very funny. I use the one on the top floor."

"Whatever you say, John." Alexa winked at him and he laughed, shaking his head. "Want to get a takeaway? My treat. To say thanks. My student loan's just come through."

He opened his mouth in hesitation for a moment, but then studied her. He grinned, and nodded his head. "I know a good chippy down the road."

* * *

John had insisted on paying for himself in the end. Now they entered 221B together, holding a striped plastic bag. He had got another portion for his flatmate.

"I forgot to ask you, what's your flatmate's name?"

"Sherlock."

"Sherlock? What's that, Victorian or something?"

"Just posh, I think."

They laughed, and he gestured for her to go before him, up the stairs to 221B. Inside, Sherlock was lying across a black sofa set against patterned wallpaper, his fingers steepled under his chin.

She frowned, and leaned over to John. "Is he okay?"

He chuckled. "We should be quiet. He gets angry if you take him out of it."

Looking around as John set the bag down on the table, she spotted the violin through the dust particles glinting in the hazy orange sunset that was glinting in through the windows.

"Whose is that?"

"Whose do you think?" His smile broadened as he lifted his fingers up. "You think _these_ can play _that_?"

"Badly, yes."

He laughed. This elicited a growl out of Sherlock. John rolled his eyes. "We've got fish and chips. There's some for you, if you want."

Sherlock let out a long, put-upon sigh. As if he was a puppet, he lifted up from the couch and approached them, an unreadable expression across his gaunt face.

"What's she doing here?" He popped a chip into his mouth.

"Sherlock, she lives here. You're going to have to get used to her."

"People _got used_ to the bubonic plague, John."

John's mouth fell open, plainly appalled by his flatmate's behaviour.

"But eventually it killed them, didn't it?" Alexa retorted, catching his eyes with hers as she leaned forward to retrieve her chips from the bag. She didn't have a clue why he hated her so much, but she knew that she wasn't about to let him ruin this. He just seemed like one of those people that disliked for no reason.

John tried to contain a laugh at Sherlock's thinly veiled aghast expression. He pulled out a chair of the dining table, pushing a microscope and a petri dish to the other end. John then pulled out another chair, and gestured for her to sit. She smiled and took the seat. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat opposite them.

"So, which university are you going to, Alexa?"

"Oh, UCL."

He raised his eyebrows and looked down at her as he sorted out which boxes belonged to who. "No way, I went there."

"What did you do?"

"Medicine. I'm a doctor." He attempted to hide the smugness of his words, and failed miserably.

She laughed. "Really? I thought you were a soldier."

"How'd you figure that out?" John asked, frowning as he sat down. Sherlock watched quietly.

"I, um," Alexa let out a breathy embarrassment. "I looked you up on Facebook, actually, after we met. I do it with everyone, really."

"Well hello, Miss Marple." He laughed and she joined in, although now slightly self-conscious. Sherlock scoffed. "Sherlock's a detective, actually."

"Really?" She frowned. "You don't look like you've spent a day out on the beat."

"Consulting." He replied curtly. "Not with Scotland Yard."

"So, private?"

"No; consulting." His face strained with her apparent stupidity. "The police come to me when they find themselves stumped with a case – which is often."

"You must be good, then."

"The best. In the world."

"Wouldn't hurt the best Consulting Detective to work on his manners, then, would it?" She asked rhetorically, smiling at him, which she knew would irritate him. John seemed to switch off as they began talking.

"Manners don't help me solve cases, do they?"

"No, but they help you make friends."

He snorted. " _Friends._ " Sherlock spat, as if it was a swear word.

"Oh, you're one of those loner types, aren't you?"

"Aren't you?"

A pang hit her, and she froze for a minute. Taking a deep breath, she asked: "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're not the only one that does their research. I've been looking into you since you signed the lease on Two-Two-One-C." He sniffed. "I have to know who I'm living with."

John gave Sherlock a warning look, which he promptly ignored.

"Go on, then." She leaned forward, locking gazes with him. "Who am I?"

He blinked for a moment, and then shifted away from her. "You're Alexa Blackwood. Adopted at a young age by Ron and Ellie Blackwood, two outstanding academics in their fields. You grew up in Dover in a renovated church in the countryside. Attended secondary school at Dover Grammar School for Girls. Whilst there you won numerous national and international competitions in mathematics and the sciences, including the International Mathematical Olympiad only a few years ago. You play the viola, the violin, a brief stint on the flute, followed by the cello and the piano, but viola's your favourite. And now you're here doing a joint honour maths and physics."

John choked on his coke. "Sherlock!"

He snapped to him. "What?"

"How'd you know all that?" She gave him a horrified look. Was he a stalker?

"Even for you, that was way too accurate." John added.

Sherlock looked like he was trying not to smile. "Our parents are friends. They go line-dancing together. You came to our house for Christmas once, not that you'll remember. I distinctly remember that you were already catastrophically drunk by the time you arrived." Then he was laughing at something, a low hum through his closed mouth.

Alexa's mouth dropped, and blushed furiously. "What? What? No, no, you're – how old was I?"

"Oh, it was only two years ago. You couldn't have been a day over sixteen. I wasn't really paying a lot of attention. Not until you insisted on sitting on my lap, anyway."

John snorted with laughter and surprise.

She looked over to him. "I – I don't usually drink like that. It was a just a little phase."

"Ah, yes, can't everyone remember their alcoholic phase? Especially when they were under the age."

She sighed, and tried to explain to John. "My parents never let me drink, and that was the first time they let me. So, I sort of misjudged my limit."

"Mycroft couldn't stand her. Had to retreat to his bedroom the first chance he got. She wouldn't stop hugging him and playing with his umbrella."

"Oh! Now Mycroft, Mycroft I remember." Alexa paused. "Vaguely."

"He's hard to forget, isn't he?" John asked, his expression a healthy shade of amusement.

"He's got a wonderful vocabulary. I think…" A laugh escaped her, and she shook her head. Her watch glinted in the sunlight streaming in. "Oh, God. I've got to go."

"What?" Disappointment flooded onto John's face. "Already? You only just got here."

"I really need an early night tonight. I've been up all night every night for the last month completing this essay thing that's due in for the first lecture. I want to get a bath and stuff and be totally prepared, you know?"

John cast his eyes downwards, and when they met her again they were hiding his dissatisfaction. "No, I understand. Sorry, could I just," He cleared his throat. "Could I get your number? Since we're going to be seeing a lot of each other, hopefully."

Alexa was blissfully ignorant of the cautious flirtation in his tone. "Yeah, of course."

* * *

It was a twenty-five-minute route that cut through Regent's Park to the lecture. UCL wasn't a campus, instead there was a small section of London where buildings were devoted to certain departments. The morning was scenic with a bright blue sky, and the strange mix of big Victorian buildings juxtaposed with the morning traffic threw two worlds at each other with all the aggression of a Jason Pollock painting.

It was a monolithic red building that housed the maths department. Excitement tied a knot in her stomach as she went into a small classroom, and sat in the middle. The middle was perfect – sit at the front, the professors can tell if you miss a lecture. Sit at the back and you could end up looking disengaged and unwilling. Everyone was talking, and a girl sat down next to her – the only empty seat in the room. They exchanged shy smiles, and the girl opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't get a syllable in before the professor stood up at the front.

"Good morning." Alexa felt her heart falter in her chest when she saw him. She forgot how to breathe momentarily, electricity replacing the blood in her veins.

"Good morning," The class replied. Alexa was stunned silent.

He was beautiful. And she never really used that word, but he was. The sort of body that you could tell was no stranger to the gym, tall, dark hair and melting, warm brown eyes, and a perfect amount of stubble. _Is this man really teaching maths? How can someone so pretty be so smart? Isn't that a bit unfair to the rest of the human race?_

"Welcome to the start of the first module of this year." He pulled the chalkboard down at the front with long, strong looking fingers. "And my name is Ben King." He quickly jotted down his name at the front. His handwriting was perfectly legible, but not quite neat. "I am a professor here at the maths department. Well, obviously, I'm not just some punter that's wandered in off the street."

He smiled, glinting white teeth, and everyone laughed.

"Now, I haven't actually done a non-calculus lecture in a while, so this is gonna be fun for me, too. Or, at least fun for me."

Alexa joined the class in a rising laugh.

"Right. Let's ease you in at the shallow end with Matrices." He wrote the word at the top. I might as well tell you what a matrix is or remind you, it'll help if you've already seen it with the suggested reading over the summer." Alexa had read them all. She had read them all twice. She had read them all twice and then made notes and done all of the problems. "Okay, so there's some confusion about N by M." He wrote N x M. "If you say an N by M matrix its maybe not so intuitive that it should have N rows and M columns."

Alexa's hand and wrist was burning with fatigue when the lecture ended. Her eyes lingered on him as everyone stood and packed up, starting to leave. She watched as he cleaned the chalkboard, and checked his phone. Did she have the courage to talk to him, properly? Not only was he ridiculously handsome, he was also a brilliant lecturer.

He obviously felt eyes on his back, because he looked up, and then met her gaze straight on. She almost jumped out of her seat, looking away instantly, her face red as a beacon, furiously starting to pack away her things into her backpack. Her heartbeat danced in her chest as she heard his footsteps coming over to her, and attempted to internally calm herself.

"You must be Alexa Blackwood."

She looked up, to see him smiling gently at her.

"I must be," She murmured.

He laughed. "It's great to have a student like you in class. If not for the amount of work you put in, then for the credit I get when you do well."

She gave a nervous giggle, that sounded taut and highly strung. "Thank you." Alexa swallowed, desperately trying to think of something good to say. "Your, um, your explanation of matrices – really good. Thorough."

 _Brilliant. Call him thorough. That'll make him fancy you.  
_

"You enjoyed it?"

"Yeah, yeah. It was interesting."

"I would ask if you were okay with the homework, but I think I already know the answer." He glanced into her open backpack, and saw the already heavily annotated textbook, complete with post-it notes hanging out of certain pages. He raised one brow when he looked back up at her. "Boring summer?"

"The opposite, actually. Thanks to that, anyway." He chuckled as she zipped it up. "Not that I wasn't busy doing actual stuff, obviously. With friends, and that sort of thing."

"Right, that sort of thing."

He was teasing her. Was he teasing her? Was this friendly banter or flirty banter?

"I'm just that way out if I'm honest. Maths has always been a whole lot more interesting to me than anything proper." Her mouth went dry. "Not that that's _way_ too much information, probably a lot more than you wanted, or even care about,"

"Oh, no, it's interesting. I like to see an enthusiastic student. Makes me feel a bit better about my job."

"You don't like it?"

"Oh, no. I like my job. Well, I like teaching people like you. What I can't stand is teaching people that are plainly not paying attention."

"Well, it's their fault. They're the ones putting themselves in debt to go on Facebook for two hours, twelve times every fortnight."

He laughed. "True, true."

They walked to the door, and he stopped as she turned to face him. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"Any problems with the homework, just email me."

"Don't be expecting anything." She called out to him, as she walked away. Her legs felt like air underneath her the entire way home.

She went straight up to 221B when she got home. Maths was always nice, but human contact was something of a must in order to keep herself thinking straight. Opening the door, her earphones blaring in her ears, she heard a –

"ALEXA!"

Her eyes widened and she swung to look around at Sherlock, stood next to a man with a sword. The armed man glanced at her in surprise. Sherlock took this opportunity to swing a powerful uppercut into the man's jaw, knocking unconscious into an armchair. He looked down at the man with an expression of disdain, dusting off his jacket.

"What the bloody hell just happened?"

"Thanks for that. Your entrance was advantageous, to say the least."

"Who's that?"

"Hm?" He followed her gaze to the unconscious man. "Oh. A friend."

She shot him a perplexed look. "Evidently not."

"It's a love-hate sort of thing."

They looked at each other in silence. She snorted in laughter, and then his mouth curved into a wide, genuine smile, chuckling.

* * *

"You took your time." Sherlock was sat in his armchair, calm as a picture, reading a book. Alexa was attempting to do her homework, but her mind fruitlessly wandered off, back to the subject of that specimen of a lecturer. She'd be lying if she said that all her thoughts were completely pure.

"Yeah, I didn't get the shopping." John spotted her, and his face brightened. "Oh, Alexa. How was your lecture?"

"Good, thanks, I–"

"What?" Sherlock interrupted, indignant. "Why not?"

John's face went tetchy, looking over to Sherlock. "Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine."

"You ... you had a row with a machine?"

"Sort of." He looked at Alexa and smiled. "It sat there and I shouted abuse." Back to Sherlock. "Have you got cash?"

Sherlock was clearly attempting to hide his amusement. "Take my card."

John walked into the kitchen, over to where Sherlock's wallet was lying on the table opposite Alexa. But before he could, he turned back to Sherlock.

"You could always go yourself, you know. You've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since I left."

Sherlock tried to look as if he hadn't even heard John, turning the page of his book whilst John picked up the black leather wallet from the table, and rummaged through it for a suitable card.

"And what happened about that case you were offered – the Jaria Diamond?"

Alexa looked up from her work to watch the conversation.

"Not interested." Sherlock looked over to her. Alexa slid a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. "I sent them a message."

John found a card that he could use – silver, she noted – but paused to lean over Alexa's laptop and look at her work.

"What's that?" He asked, genuine curiously coming across him.

"Linear algebra. Matrices, at the moment."

He read out her writing aloud. "Every finite dimensional linear transformation from Rm-Rn can be written as a matrix multiplication, so N by M." John swallowed and took a breath, attempting to make sense of it. He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes. "Yeah, I've got no idea what the hell that means."

"Well, it's actually quite surprising, because we know that matrix multiplication gives us a linear transformation, but this is saying that for every linear transformation there is a matrix, such that that transformation is just multiplication by the matrix. So, like, if you had a T," She scrawled down a T. "So to find the matrix," She started writing. "You take the special vectors, e1, which is equal to one-zero. Then I get e2, and that's…" She looked up at John, to see him staring blankly at her. "I've lost you, haven't I?"

"You never had me, to be honest."

"The only matrix John knows is the film, Alexa. And I doubt he even fully understood _that_."

"Holmes," John growled, casting a dark look over at him. Sherlock turned a page of his book, looking as if he had never said anything.

John turned back to the table, and spotted the gouged mark across the table. John tutted, looking up at Alexa to silently point it out to her. Alexa shook her head, trying hard not to laugh in his face. John looked from her to Sherlock, who shook his head innocently. Tutting, he left.

Sherlock jumped up as soon as the door, suddenly energized. He paced across the room over to her.

"Let me use your laptop." He said, moving behind her to look at the screen.

"I'm actually using it for work," Alexa tried to close the lid, but it was too late. His hand shot to the lid, holding it open. "Sherlock, for God's sake."

"So that's what you've been staring at for the last hour?"

A staff profile of Ben King blared on the screen, his handsome face lightly smiling at the camera. Sherlock's expression dropped for a moment when he saw his face.

"No!" She slammed down the lid with a little too much zeal. "No, he's my lecturer." But she could feel the colour of her face betraying her.

"Has someone got the hots for teacher?" He purred, teasingly.

"I was going to email him to ask about the work." Alexa stumbled over her words.

"Didn't sound like you needed any help." He replied.

"Oh, what do you know?"

He leaned over her, a long thin finger lightly grazing her paper. She caught his clean scent of shampoo and fresh paper. "Plug in three, two, and zero to this. So then T to e2 is minus one, zero, seven. So A, corresponding to T, is that in a side-by-side vector. Multiply it by X Y to prove it."

She was frozen in complete disbelief.

"There's your help. So no need to email your professor. So I can borrow your laptop."

He took it off the table with one hand and carried it into the living room. Alexa huffed and muttered something incomprehensible under her breath.

* * *

Later, John returned, this time with bags of shopping. Alexa stood up and rushed round to help him with the bags, as he uttered his gratitude.

"Don't worry about us, Sherlock." John announced, as they came in through the open doorway. "We can manage."

Sherlock was now sitting at the dining table with his hands folded in front of his mouth concentrating on the screen. He barely glanced across to them, as John sighed heavily, dumping the bags on the table. He was too far engrossed in whatever was on his laptop. The full e-mail isn't shown but what text can be seen reveals that Sherlock and Sebastian haven't seen each other for a long time.

"Is that Alexa's laptop?"

"Of course. Mines in the bedroom."

"What, and you couldn't be bothered to get up and get it?"

Sherlock ignored him.

John seemed to let it go. He picked up a stack of letters and flicked through them. One of them appeared to be red. Urgent paying needed. John quickly and not-so subtly hid it from Alexa, before taking a moment to shake his head in resignation.

"Need to get a job."

"Oh, dull." He replied, lost in thought.

John repositioned himself awkwardly, and looked down at Sherlock. "Listen, um…" He appeared to be fighting the need to appear impressive in front of Alexa, whilst also appear in need in front of Sherlock. "If we could…" He stopped when he realised that he may as well have been talking to a brick wall. "Sherlock, are you listening?"

"I need to go to the bank." He got up and went towards the door, taking his coat off the hook as he went. John and Alexa frowned at each other, before they both hurry to catch up with him.

* * *

 **Thanks so much for reading!  
**

 **It would be so helpful and encouraging if you could leave a review. Even constructive criticism would be amazing. Thanks again!**


	2. I've Heard Your Voice

_**TWO: I'VE HEARD YOUR VOICE**_

* * *

Tower 42, Old Broad Street.

Sherlock led the confused pair through the revolving glass doors, the entrance of Shad Sanderson Bank. They both stared out at the impressive foyer, following him.

"So, when you said you needed to go to the bank…" Alexa's voice trailed off into nothing.

She got onto the escalator behind Sherlock whilst he observed everything but them, especially the security system, which had to have cards swiped across electronic readers in order to open the glass barrier gates. Thy reached the top of the escalator, and Sherlock walked over to the reception desk.

"Sherlock Holmes."

Apparently, they were walking into the office of Sebastian Wilkes.

"Sherlock Holmes." Wilkes addressed him with a hollow warmth.

"Sebastian." They shook hands, Sebastian clasping Sherlock's large hand in both of his own.

"Howdy, buddy. How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?"

Alexa was letting her eyes wander around his luxurious office. The view was amazing, a grey London sprawling out beneath them. She wasn't sure how she had been roped into this, but she knew that she was along for the ride, now.

"This is my friend, John Watson."

"Friend?"

"Colleague." John corrected.

"Right."

John shifted forward as they shook hands, and Sebastian found his gaze resting on the before hidden girl behind the two men. Alexa realised she was being stared at, and held out her own hand.

"Alexa Blackwood."

His face lit up with recognition as he enthusiastically took her hand to shake it. "I thought I recognised you."

Her steady expression faltered as he wrung out her hand. "Sorry?"

"Head-hunting starts earlier every year, it seems."

"Wow, okay."

"You ever need any work experience, come straight to me." Sebastian's eyes raked over her, and she started to feel a little bit ill. "How do you know Sherlock?"

"I'm a friend."

"A friend!" He stood back up straight, grinning unpleasantly at Sherlock. He scratches his neck, and Sherlock's eyes fall onto his wristwatch. As Sebastian turns away, John purses his lips, and glances down at Alexa to give her a reassuring look.

"Well, grab a pew." Sebastian gestured to the chairs. "D'you need anything? Coffee, water?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"No?" He looked to his secretary. "We're all sorted here, thanks."

As the secretary left the room, Sebastian sat down at his desk, the trio sitting down opposite him. Sherlock went to sit in the middle, but John got there first with a hand on the back of the chair, giving him a look. Sherlock suppressed an eye roll and sat on the far right.

"So, you're doing well." He started. "You've been abroad a lot."

"Well, some."

"Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?"

John frowned in confusion, as Sebastian threw a thick finger in a point to Sherlock, and laughed.

"Right. You're doing that thing." He shifted his gaze to Alexa and John. "We were at Uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do."

"It's not a trick." Sherlock murmured, the most placid Alexa had ever seen him.

"He could look at you and tell you your whole life story."

"Yes, I've seen him do it." John replied.

"Put the wind up everybody."

"Bet it was pretty cool to see that, then." Alexa assumed.

Sebastian snorted with laughter. "We hated him."

A pang of shock ran through her. Sure, he wasn't the friendliest person, but hate him? Sherlock turned his head away, and looked down, his face momentarily saturated with agony.

"You'd come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know who you'd been shagging the previous night." He continued, oblivious.

Alexa gritted her teeth. Pain and anger started to stir within her.

"I simply observed." Another quiet retort.

"Go on, enlighten me." Sebastian shifted to Sherlock. "Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world – you're quite right. How could you tell?" Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but Sebastian continued, smug. "You're gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan." John smiled.

"No, I..."

"Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!"

Sherlock gave him a silent look before he spoke. "I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me."

John frowned round at him, Alexa smiling at the obvious irritation in Sebastian's reaction as he laughed humourlessly, Sherlock smiling back at him with an equal lack of humour. Sebastian clapped his hands together, and then leaned forward, his façade of friendliness dropping all at once.

"I'm glad you could make it over. We've had a break-in."

He led them across the trading floor towards another door. "Sir William's office – the bank's former Chairman. The room's been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night."

"What did they steal?" John asked.

"Nothing. Just left a little message."

He held his security card against the reader by the door to unlock it. Inside, hanging on the plain white wall behind the large desk is a framed painted portrait of a man in a suit – presumably the late Sir William Shad himself. On the wall to the left of the portrait someone had sprayed what looked like a graffiti tag in yellow. The tag vaguely resembled a number 8, but with the top of the number left open, and above it is an almost horizontal straight line. Across the eyes of the portrait itself, another almost horizontal straight line had been sprayed. The yellow pain has run trails down the painting – perhaps because of the texture of the wallpaper, or because the perp had oversprayed the line. Sebastian went across to the desk and then stepped aside to allow Sherlock a clear view of the wall. Alexa's fingertips subconsciously went to her lips as she stared up at the symbol. She glanced to Sherlock, his expression giving nothing, his icy gaze fixed on the yellow paint.

Later, they're back in Sebastian's office. He showed them the security footage from the night before.

"Sixty seconds apart." He flicked back and forth between the still photograph taken at 23:34:01 which showed the paint on the wall and on the portrait, and a minute earlier – 23:33:01 – when the wall and portrait were still clean. "So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, then left within a minute."

"How many ways into that office?"

"Well, that's where this gets really interesting."

Back in the reception area, Sebastian indicated to a screen on a computer which had a layout of the trading floor and its surrounding offices. Each indicated door has a light against it showing its security status. "Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet."

"That door didn't open last night." Sherlock explained.

"There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you – five figures." He reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and takes out a cheque.

"This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way.

"I don't need an incentive, Sebastian." He turned, and walked away. John and Alexa watched him go, before turning back to Sebastian.

"He's, uh, he's kidding you, obviously." He held out his hand. "Sh-shall I look after that for him?" Sebastian handed him the cheque. "Thanks." He looked at the figure on it. Alexa sneaked a look over his shoulder, and subsequently choked on her own breath.

When Sherlock was done, he had a name scrawled in paper in his hand. All three were walking back down to the escalators.

"Two trips around the world this month." John started. "You didn't ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him."

"I think I understood a bit of it, John." Alexa told him, taking out her phone and checking the time.

He frowned. "What?"

"That watch – it's a new Breitling. The Chronometre Crosswind, I think. So that's how he knew it was in a month."

Both of the boys looked down at her, baffled.

"How did you know?"

"I saved up a lot of money to get it for my dad when it came out. Then I sat outside the shop in a line the day of release. Wasn't the date wrong, as well? Oh! So you knew because he crossed the dateline twice!"

"Smart girl." John patronised. "Did she get it right?"

"Well, yes. But she took all the fun out of it."

Alexa visibly deflated, but tried to look unnaffected.

"So d'you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?" John asked.

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks." Sherlock replied.

"Hm?"

"That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and..." He deliberately trailed off.

"And it'll lead us to the person who sent it." Alexa finished.

"Obvious."

"Well, there's three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?"

"That's why you were dancing around the pillars, then?" Alexa asked.

"What?" John was still a few steps behind.

"Pillars and the screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot."

"Does it?"

They went out of the revolving doors and out into the street. "Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight." He held up the name card to show them. "Not many Van Coons in the phonebook. Taxi!"

* * *

"Sherlock." John tried to talk to his friend through the door. "Sherlock, are you okay?" Alexa fiddled with something in her pocket. Sherlock had jumped a balcony, and left the other much shorter two alone in the corridor. "Yeah, any time you feel like letting me in."

"'Scuse, John." He moved to the side, frowning as she leant down to the lock of the door, sticking something inside and fiddling about with it.

"What are you doing?"

"Picking a digital lock."

He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the metal panel in the door that scanned key cards falling to the floor. She turned back round to him with a smug look.

* * *

The police had arrived. A photographer was taking pictures of Van Coon's body lying on the bed, angling himself back in order to get a good shot. Forensics officers dusted for fingerprints on the nearby mirror, and distant voices chattered outside the bedroom. Sherlock had taken off his coat and was snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

"D'you think he'd lost a lot of money?" John quizzed. "I mean; suicide is pretty common among City boys."

"We don't know that it was suicide."

"Come on. The door was locked from the inside; you had to climb down the balcony."

Sherlock squatted down by a black suitcase on the floor near the bed, peering inside its open lid.

"Been away three days, judging by the laun–"

"But it can't have been suicide, can it?" Alexa asked, looking at the two men as if they were idiots.

"…What?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her.

"Well, it's pretty obvious, isn't it?" Her frown deepened, feeling her face starting to burn at the intense eye contact he was dealing her. "I – I mean, maybe it's nothing."

"No. Go on." He turned his body to face her completely.

"Well, he's been shot in the right-hand side of his head."

"And?"

"And he's left-handed."

"Of course. Of course!" He took hold of her shoulders and shook. "You always _were_ so clever, Alexa!"

She recoiled at his touch, embarrassment and shock painting her masked expression. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock stared at her, then sucked in a breath, and turned to John, who looked equally perplexed. "Those symbols at the bank – the graffiti. Why were they put there?"

"What, some sort of code?"

"Obviously."

Sherlock carefully steps closer to Van coon, opening up his suit jacket.

"Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?"

"Well, maybe he wasn't answering."

Oh good. You follow.

"No."

Sherlock threw him a look, before going to examine Van Coon's hands.

What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?

"What, it was a warning?"

The detective prised open Van Coon's mouth in a gentle fashion, pulling out a small black origami flower from his jaws. Air hissed out of Van Coon's lungs.

"Precisely." Sherlock's eyes didn't move from the flower. "He was being threatened."

There was a man's voice from outside of the bedroom. "Bag this up, will you..."

"So, a bill?"

"And presumably not from the gas board." Alexa added, watching Sherlock handle the black flower intently, manoeuvring it into an evidence bag.

"And see if you can get prints off this glass." The disembodied man's voice suddenly had a face to it – a detective; young, short, his brows pinched together.

"Ah, Sergeant. We haven't met." Sherlock offered his gloved hand for the detective to shake.

Instead, the man elected to put his hands on his hips. "Yeah, I know who you are; and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence – or bring teenagers to the crime scene." His narrow eyes fixed on Alexa.

"I'm nineteen, actually. Meaning I'm an adult."

"On paper, maybe."

Sherlock lowered his hand, and passed over the evidence bag. "I've phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?"

"He's busy. I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant; it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock."

He looks at Dimmock with surprise, then turns to share his surprised look with the other turns and shares his surprised look with John. Dimmock turned, and walked out of the room. They followed him out into the living room, watching Dimmock hand the evidence bag to one of the forensics team.

"We're obviously looking at a suicide."

"Actually, we were just talking about that, and–"

"Love, please." Dimmock patronised, looking down his nose at her. "The grown-ups are talking."

Sherlock cracked off his latex gloves, and settled his gaze on Dimmock, something unreadable swimming in his eyes.

"Suicide is only one possible explanation of some of the facts. You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

Dimmock shifted his weight, crossing his arms. "Like?"

"The wound was on the right side of his head."

"And?"

"Van Coon was left-handed." He shifted his arm into an energetic and elaborate mime as he demonstrated his point, pointing a finger gun to his right temple with his left hand from two eccentric positions. "Requires quite a bit of contortion."

"Left-handed?"

"Oh, I'm amazed you didn't notice." He snapped, sarcastically. "All you have to do is look around this flat." Sherlock threw a finger to the table. "Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left... Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. D'you want me to go on?"

"No, I think you've covered it."

"Oh, I might as well; I'm almost at the bottom of the list."

John served Alexa a tired look, causing her to smile.

He pointed over to the kitchen. "There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left." Sherlock turned back to Dimmock with an impatient expression. "It's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head. Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him. Only explanation of all the facts. If you'd let Alexa speak, you might actually learn something."

"But the gun: why..."

"He was waiting for the killer. He'd been threatened." Sherlock turned, and started off out of the door, his coat flying around him as he swung it on.

"What?"

"Today at the bank. Sort of a warning."

"He fired a shot when his attacker came in."

"And the bullet?"

"Went through the open window."

"Oh, come on!" Dimmock cried, "What are the chances of that?!"

"Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun. I guarantee it."

"But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?"

Sherlock dramatically slams his hand into a leather glove. "Good!" Condescendingly; "You're finally asking the right questions." He turns and storms out. John looks round at Dimmock and give him an apologetic look.

* * *

"I hate these kind of restaurants," Alexa muttered, to no one in particular, as they made their way through to where Sebastian should be.

"Why?" John asked. "You more of an Italian girl?"

"No, it's the whole cross-legged thing. People think it's all cool and original – idiots. They're just trying to save on chairs."

John laughed and Sherlock looked away with a smile, trying to hide his expression.

They heard Sebastian's voice booming before they even got there. "And he's left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork, which of course can never be done!"

"It was a threat." Sherlock started. "That's what the graffiti meant."

"I'm kind of in a meeting." He cast an apologetic look to his colleagues, and then up to Sherlock. "Can you make an appointment with my secretary?"

"I don't think this can wait." John replied. "Sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders – someone who worked in your office – was killed."

"What?"

"Van Coon. The police are at his flat."

"Killed?" He repeated, cocooned in shock.

"Sorry to interfere with everyone's digestion." Sherlock looked around the table with malice, and then down to Sebastian. "Still wanna make an appointment? Would, maybe, nine o'clock at Scotland Yard suit?

Sebastian put his glass of water down, and ran a finger at the back of his collar nervously.

They relocated to the men's toilets.

"Harrow; Oxford. Very bright guy. Worked in Asia for a while, so..."

"You gave him the Hong Kong accounts.

"Lost five mill in a single morning; made it all back a week later. Nerves of steel, Eddie had." He reminisced.

"Who might want him gone?" Alexa asked.

Sebastian frowned and turned to her. "Are you even allowed in here?" He dismissed it as soon as he had said it, shrugging. "We all make enemies."

"You don't all end up with a bullet through your temple." John retorted.

Everyone's train of thought was interrupted by a text tone. "Not usually. 'Scuse me." He produces his phone and checks the screen. "It's my Chairman. The police have been on to him. Apparently they're telling him it was a suicide."

Well, they've got it wrong, Sebastian. He was murdered." Sherlock insisted.

"Well, I'm afraid they don't see it like that."

"Seb." Sherlock muttered, sternly.

"And neither does my boss. I hired you to do a job. Don't get side-tracked." He warned.

They all stood in silence for a moment, all equally as surprised as the others.

"I thought bankers were all supposed to be heartless bastards!" John remarked.

* * *

"Sorry, I didn't get a chance to speak to you yesterday." Alexa started, her heart thumping in her chest. Everyone was filing into the classroom. "I'm Alexa."

The girl next to her smiled sheepishly. She was very clearly gorgeous, the sort of looks that made people fall over themselves trying to get to them. Alexa wondered why the red-headed beauty was bothering to acknowledge her. "I'm Olivia. But everyone calls me Liv."

Alexa's smile progressed into a grin. "Well, pleased to meet you, Liv. Are you taking maths as a joint honour, or…?"

"Yeah, I'm taking this and mandarin." She slid a Macbook Pro out of her expensive looking leather bag. "You?"

"Physics. Not nearly as interesting as you." They both laughed, and Alexa found herself relaxing a little.

* * *

Alexa was surprised to see the back of Sherlock's coat when she turned the corner down onto Baker Street, walking back from her second ever lecture. An awkward decision presented itself – pretend she hadn't seen him and keep walking, or run forward to catch up with him. It could be embarrassing if there was an awkward silence, and he wasn't the most talkative unless you were arguing with him.

That was when he stopped in front of her. He produced his phone and took off a glove as he texted something. She found herself slowing down, in order not to meet with him – but there was only so much slow you could do. Her teeth gritted, feeling like she was driving a speeding car straight into a wall. Alexa saw his profile frown, and then look to her.

"Oh, hello." He greeted nonchalantly, eyes sliding back to the screen of his phone.

"Hi." She suddenly felt very stupid for caring so much.

"Where've you been?"

"What do you mean? I have lectures every morning."

"You're twenty minutes late."

 _He's a complete stalker. One day I'm going to find him sniffing my underwear._

"I made a friend." She explained. "I was with her afterwards."

"How was it?" He asked, referring to the lecture.

"Amazing!" She gushed – her mind flitted to Ben King. "He's amazing."

"Who?"

Alexa realised her mistake instantly. "The lecture."

"'He'?"

"It. _It_."

He looked round at her with suspicious, narrowed eyes, before jerking his head back forward. "Are you still shaken?"

"From what?"

"From the dead body." He unlocked the door, and headed up the stairs, her hot on his heels. "It _was_ your first, after all."

"Oh, no. Not my first. But I'm fine now, thanks."

"Not your first?" They entered 221B.

"I vaguely remember seeing my mum in her coffin." She said, nonchalant.

"Ah. I'm sorry." Sherlock replied, awkwardly looking away.

"Getting anywhere with the case?" She asked, doing a double take at the print-outs of the photographs of the graffiti near and across Sir William's portrait, stuck on the wall around the mirror above the fireplace.

"Not exactly." He walked over to the dining table, beckoning her to follow, and gesturing to his open laptop. "Here, have a look."

Alexa walked over to the table, her eyes quickly growing wide as she read the headline. "Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police." She murmured. There was a picture of a bald man next to it. "The intruder that can walk through walls?"

"Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon."

"So, you think…"

"He's killed another one."

New Scotland Yard. A rare glimpse of pale blue sky peaked through the tent of clouds, splashing harsh light into the office. Inspector Dimmock sat at his desk and folds his arms in exasperation as Sherlock stands at the other side of the desk and types onto a laptop.

"Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat…" He turned the laptop around, to show Dimmock the article. "Doors locked from the inside."

"Too similar to be a coincidence." Alexa added. Dimmock scowled at the page. "Both killed by someone who can," Her face twitched in a frown, as if in disbelief that she couldn't believe what she was about to say. "Walk through walls."

"Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide?" Dimmock squirmed in his frayed seat, looking anywhere but Sherlock. Sherlock looked up, sighing pointedly. "You have seen the ballistics report; I suppose?"

"Mmm." Dimmock nodded.

"And the shot that killed him: was it fired from his own gun?"

"No." He replied, reluctant.

"No. So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel." Dimmock looked back at him without a reaction. Alexa watched Sherlock like he was an endangered species, as he leaned forward over the desk, and spoke intensely into his face. "I've just handed you a murder enquiry." He nodded towards the picture of the dead man. "Five minutes in his flat."

* * *

Sherlock ducked under the police tape at the bottom of the stairs inside the door of the flat. He went upstairs, followed by Dimmock and Alexa. His head swivelled from left to right, taking everything in as he walked. Again, there was an open empty suitcase on the floor. Nearby on the carpet sits a black origami flower, the same that Sherlock had extracted from Van Coon's mouth. There were books and open newspapers everywhere, and it was clear that whoever had lived here had been a wordy – the revelation that the victim had been a journalist therefore came as no shock. on the desk and on bookshelves and scattered about on the floor. He made a bee-line to the kitchen area and peered through the window, the roofs of the nearby buildings glinted back at him. Pushing back the net curtain for a better look, his mouth twitched into a smirk.

"Four floors up. That's why they think they're safe. Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they're impregnable." He advanced back into the middle of the room. "They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in." Sherlock turns back on his heels towards the stairs, and spots the skylight.

"I don't understand." Dimmock stated.

Sherlock went out into the landing. "You're dealing with a killer who can climb." Then he hopped up onto something, his expensive shoes meeting with a step stool, in order to get closer to the skylight, which was high on the angled roof.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't think he replies at times like this." Alexa told Dimmock, grated by his constant inane comments.

"He clings to the walls like an insect." Sherlock was in a world of his own, unhooking the latch and pushing the window upwards. "That's how he got in."

"What?!" Dimmock protested.

"Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight."

"You're not serious!" He cried. "Like Spiderman?!"

"He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon."

Dimmock laughed in disbelief. "Oh, ho-hold on!"

"And of course that's how he got into the bank. He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace."

He stepped down onto the landing and looked around again.

"We have to find out what connects these two men." His eyes wander, and land on a pile of books that had been pushed into piles at the side of the staircase. Jumping down a few stairs he picked up one particular book which had fallen open at its front page. Only managing to get a glimpse, Alexa saw that it had been borrowed from West Kensington Library. With one hand he slammed the book shut, taking it with him as he hurried back down the stairs.

* * *

Sherlock and Alexa stood next to each other, on yet another escalator. West Kensington Library was surprisingly big and modern, and they had to navigate a maze to find the aisle where Lukis' book had come from.

"Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died." He checked the reference number stuck to the bottom of the book's spine, and manoeuvred towards its correct place, starting to pull out books and examine them.

Alexa sniffed and let her eyes roam, feeling more than a little useless. Her eyes caught onto the book on her right, and curiousity took over her. Pulling it out, she went to look at the title – and was totally stunned at what she saw out of the corner of her eye.

"Sherlock."

He stepped over to her. She nodded over to the metal spine of the bookcase, scrawled with yellow paint. He reaches out to the shelf, and pulls so many books out with one hand she had to wonder just how large his hand span was. Pulling out another huge handful of books with his other hand, he revealed that spray painted on the back of the shelf were the same two symbols that were sprayed across Sir William Shad's office.

* * *

221B. They had added photographs of the shelves to the earlier photos stuck around the mirror in the living room. John had been caught up on the situation, and the three of them were now standing at the fireplace, looking at the pictures.

"So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon; Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in." Sherlock finally spoke. "Hours later, he dies."

"The killer finds Lukis at the library, so he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen – then Lukis goes home." Alexa summarised. "Late that night, he dies as well. But why?"

Sherlock gently ran his fingers over the line painted across Sir William's face. "Only the cipher can tell us." He taps a long finger against the page – suddenly his expression sharpens.

* * *

Trafalgar Square was the usual tourist magnet, buzzing with people desperate to find out something about the country that they were visiting. The three walk straight through the centre, towards the national gallery.

"The world's run on codes and ciphers. From the million-pound security system at the bank, to the PIN machine that John took exception to, cryptography inhabits our every waking moment."

"So?" Alexa asked.

"But it's all computer-generated: electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. It's an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won't unravel it."

"Where are we headed?" John straightened out his coat.

"I need to ask for some advice."

"What?!" Alexa laughed at John, as he threw a disbelieving look at her. "Sorry?!"

Sherlock gave them a blank expression. "You heard me perfectly. I'm not saying it again."

" _You_ need advice?" She asked.

"On painting, yes. I need to talk to an expert."

They went around the gallery, to the rear of the building. A young man had spray-stencilled the image of a half-pig-half-human policeman holding a rifle onto a solid grey metal door. The image has a pig's snout in place of a human nose. A large canvas bag was at the man's feet, grasping spray cans in both hands. With one of the cans he has sprayed his tag, 'RAZ', below it. He stopped to admire his work, before starting to add the finishing touches.

"Part of a new exhibition." He explained, pausing as they approached.

"Interesting." Said a clearly uninterested Sherlock.

"I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy."

"Catchy." Alexa murmured, causing John to snort with laughter.

Raz continued spraying. "I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner." He looks round to Sherlock. "Can we do this while I'm workin'?"

Sherlock took his phone from his coat pocket, and held it out towards Raz, who turns and tosses a spray can at John. He instinctively catches it, giving Alex a bewildered look. Raz took Sherlock's phone and scrolled through the photographs of the yellow ciphers from Sir William's office and the library. Alexa thought about just how boring his camera roll must be, if he freely allowed strangers scroll through them.

"Know the author?" Sherlock quizzed.

"Recognise the paint. It's like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc."

"What about the symbols, d'you recognise them?"

Raz squinted at the screen. "Not even sure it's a proper language."

"Two men have been murdered, Raz." Sherlock replied, sternly. "Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them."

"What, and this is all you've got to go on?" Raz looked up at him with annoyance. "It's hardly much, now, is it?"

"Are you going to help us or not?"

"I'll ask around."

"Somebody must know something about it."

"Oi!" A disembodied shout from the mouth of the alley.

The four of them look round, and see two Community Support Officers hurrying towards them. Sherlock instantly grabs his phone from Raz and sprints off in the opposite direction. Raz drops his spray can, kicks his bag towards John, and takes off. Alexa stared open-mouthed at the approaching authority.

Then something was pulling her away. "Come on!"

She turned, to see a frustrated Sherlock tugging at her wrist, towing her down the alleyway. The last thing she saw was John, turning meekly towards the community officers. Sherlock took her out onto a main street, both of them panting, Alexa leaning down, and resting her hands on the top of her knees.

"Some top student you are." Sherlock started, through pulled breaths. "You're a blithering idiot."

"What about John?" Her mouth formed an O. "Are they gonna give him an ASBO?"

Sherlock thought about it. "Probably."

"Right."

A moment's silence. Then they were both laughing, in the middle of Trafalgar Square, surrounded by swarms of people that were unaware of the memory being made right in front of them.

He sighed, straightening up, and shaking his head. "This symbol. I still can't place it." It seemed as if he was talking to himself for a minute, and then he turned his gaze onto her. "No. I need you to go to the police station..." Sherlock paced out onto the kerb, sticking his hand out to catch a passing cab." He went back over to her and placed a hand on her back, steering her towards the open door of the cab. "Ask about the journalist."

"Wait, I," She talked like she was protesting, but got into the cab, clicked her seatbelt on in the taxi.

"His personal effects will have been impounded. Get hold of his diary, or something that will tell us his movements."

"What about you?"

"Gonna go and see Van Coon's P.A. If we retrace their steps, somewhere they'll coincide." He examined her wary expression, then winked at her. "Good luck, love."

Alexa shot him a look. "You don't have to flirt to get me to do what you want, Sherlock."

"Oh, thank God." He shut the door, and walked off.

Alexa leaned forward to the driver. "Scotland Yard."

"Right." He replied. Leaning back, she glanced up into the rear-view mirror – and spotted a woman in dark glasses, taking a picture of the cab.

* * *

Alexa watched as Dimmock rummaged around a box of Lukis' personal effects.

"Your friend..."

"Which one?"

"Sherlock. He's an arrogant sod."

She grinned. "Arrogance is bragging about something you can't do. Sherlock delivers."

Dimmock gave her a look, pausing, before leaning over, and passing her a small navy leather book. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? The journalist's diary?"

She took the diary and roughly flicked through it. It naturally bent open at a page that had been bookmarked with a boarding pass to Dalian DLC – Dalian Zhoushuizi International Airport – to London LHR – London Heathrow Airport – on Zhuang Airlines.

"Thank you." Alexa nodded to him, before standing up to leave. He got up as well.

"Hey, listen," She turned to look at him. "I was wondering, if you… wait, how old are you, again?"

"Nineteen." Alexa replied, blankly.

"Never mind." He shook his head, sitting back down in defeat. She rolled her eyes, walking out of his office.

* * *

Alexa followed the trail from the book. It had taken her to a place on the edges of Chinatown, beautifully decorated in the lead up to Chinese New Year. Her eyes were glued to the pages of the diary, stepping out blindly in her black marble-patterned Doc Martens.

 _If this is the correct address, what the hell is it doing written down in this, an–_

She walked straight into a brick wall. The brick wall grunted. It then twirled around, to reveal that it was a slightly confused consulting detective.

"Sorr-"

Words were flying out of his mouth. "Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died – whatever was hidden inside that case. I've managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information,"

"Sherlock,"

"Credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here."

"Sherlock,"

"Somewhere in this street; somewhere near. I don't know where, but,"

"SHERLOCK!" The people on the street all turned to look at her.

"What?!"

She shot him a look, and pointed over to a shop face. "That shop over there."

He follows her finger towards the shop, frowning, and then back to her. "How can you tell?"

"Lukis' diary." She showed him the entry, he leaned in, and then she tapped him on the nose with it. "He was here too. He wrote down the address." Alexa turned, walking purposefully towards the entrance.

Sherlock stared after her, then snapped out of it, quickly pacing after her.

* * *

The bell on the door rung as they entered the Lucky Cat Emporium. It was touristy and empty, its goods mainly consisting of gold decorative cats which are sitting up on their hind legs with one front paw raised. The paws on some of the cats are waving back and forth with the motion of a nodding dog.

Alexa smiled at the shopkeeper, lifting her hand. "Hi." She turned, looking at the other cats.

"You want lucky cat?"

"Hm?" Her face flushed. "No, sorry. No thanks."

Sherlock looked round at her, smirking in amusement.

"Ten pound." She stressed, "Ten pound!"

"No thank you." Alexa wrenched on a smile.

"I think your husband," She gestured to Sherlock. "He will like!"

"No, no, we're not..." Her voice trailed off, and she laughed awkwardly.

She walked over to one of the glass tables, which contained small ceramic painted handle-less cups on it. Sherlock examined a rack of clay statues. She took a gentle hand to one of them, turning it round. She draws a sharp breath on seeing the same symbol on it as the one she had found in the library.

"Oi!" She hissed, not taking her eyes off the symbol.

Sherlock put down the statue, and came over to her.

"Look." She tapped a finger under the symbol.

"Yes, I see it." He replied, leaning into it, his voice so deep and soft that it sent shocks down her spine, making her stand up straight.

"The-the exact same as the cipher." Alexa murmured.

They turned their faces towards each other – and immediately recoiled at the proximity. She cleared her throat awkwardly, putting the cup back. Sherlock lifted his head, as if everything was coming together.

* * *

Then, they were walking down the street. "It's an ancient number system! Hangzhou." She could almost see his thoughts, the symbols floating in his mind's eye. "These days, only street traders use it. Those were numbers written on the wall at the bank and at the library."

He walked over to a greengrocer's which had some of its wares on display outside the shop in boxes. The various boxes had handwritten signs on them giving the names of the vegetables in both Chinese and English, and underneath was the cost of that particular item in both Hangzhou and English. He picked up various signs, checking the symbols.

"Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect."

Alexa spotted a sign with the upside down eight and slash above it, and its English equivalent beneath. "It's a bloody fifteen! What we previously thought was the artist's tag – it's a number fifteen."

"And the blindfold – the horizontal line? That was a number as well."

He showed Alexa a price tag which had the almost-horizontal line at the top, and '£1' written underneath. He grinned triumphantly. "The Chinese number one, Alexa."

Sherlock turned and walked away. Alexa found a smile tugging at the sides of her mouth – that promptly fell when she saw the exact same woman, with dark sunglasses, taking another photo. For a moment all she could do was stare. Someone walked across her, obscuring her view. By the time they had passed, she had vanished.

* * *

Shortly afterwards, they were staking out the Lucky Cat Emporium. Sitting at a table in the window of the restaurant opposite the shop, Sherlock was writing the two Hangzhou numbers and their English equivalents onto a paper napkin. Alexa also scrawls down some notes of her own.

"Two men travel back from China." She started, "Both go straight to the Lucky Cat emporium. What did they see?"

"It's not what they saw; it's what they both brought back in those suitcases."

"And you're not talking about duty free." A waitress comes over and sets a plate in front of her. "Thank you."

"Think about what Sebastian told us; about Van Coon – about how he stayed afloat in the market."

"Lost five million..."

"Made it back in a week."

"Right."

"That's how he made such easy money."

"He was a smuggler." She laughed to herself at the scandal of it all, before taking her first mouthful of food. He watched carefully.

"A guy like him – it would have been perfect. Business man,"

"Making frequent trips to Asia. And Lukis was the same."

"A journalist writing about China."

"'Xactly." Another mouthful of food. She was taking a little too much pleasure in the food – it was definitely the best she had had since she had got to London.

"Both of them smuggled stuff out, and the Lucky Cat was their drop-off."

"But _why_?" Alexa probed. "It doesn't make any sense. I mean, if they both did their job, why would they be killed off afterwards?"

Sherlock sat back of into his seat thoughtfully – a smile quickly coming onto his face. "What if one of them was light-fingered?"

"As in; stole something from the hoard? Oh! And the killer doesn't know which of them it was, so he punishes them both. Of course."

Sherlock's gaze roamed out of the window towards the shop. Alexa watches as his eyes raise to the windows above it. Looking down to the ground floor level again, his gaze sharpened.

Remind me..." His brow creased, focusing on a Yellow Pages phone directory sealed in a plastic wrapper which had been left outside the door to the flat beside the Lucky Cat. "When was the last time that it rained?"

Without waiting for a reply, he stood up and left the restaurant. Alexa had only managed about two mouthfuls of her meal. Eyes widening in annoyance, she sat back in exasperation, before getting up and following him, who has probably managed only two mouthfuls of his meal, sits back in exasperation but then dutifully gets up and follows.

Over the road, Sherlock bent down to the Yellow Pages. The plastic wrapper still has constellations of water droplets on it, and the top of it had broken open a little. Sherlock ran his fingers over the top of the wet exposed pages of the directory.

"It's been here since Monday." He straightened up and pressed Soo Lin's doorbell. He only waited a couple of seconds, then looked to his right, and paced off in that direction. They walk down the alleyway to the side of the building.

"No-one's been in that flat for at least three days."

"I was thinking holiday," She gazed up at the flat. "But no one –

"Alexa? Alexa!"

They both turned to the mouth of the alleyway, seeing a gaggle of university students staring through at them. Olivia was waving erratically.

"You said friend, not _friends_."

"Oh, Jesus." She murmured. "Hi, Liv!" She waved back.

Sherlock shrugged, before turning to the cantilevered fire escape above him. Taking a short run at it, he leapt up and grabbed hold of the end, pulling it down towards him until it touched the ground. He then ran up the steps towards the open window of the flat. As he reached the top, the ladder swung back to the horizontal position behind him.

Alexa watched in mortification. She looked back at Olivia and her friends – they all looked shocked and confused, maybe even slightly weirded. Realising that she was way too short to reach the fire escape at only five-foot-two, she ran back round to the front of the building, where the group was waiting.

"What the hell was that?" Liv asked, half amused, half confused.

"Hm?" She asked, out of breath. Everyone's eyes were on her. "Oh – oh, that's my… that's my friend."

"The one that just broke into that flat?" A random boy asked, frowning at her.

"Break in?" She laughed, hoping that her nerves didn't show. "No, no. It's his. He got locked out."

They peered at the name-tag. "…That six-foot Caucasian bloke's name is Soo-Lin?"

"Um,"

"And he dots the 'i' with a flower?"

"Is there a problem with that?" Alexa crossed her arms. "He was adopted by Chinese parents. Soo-Lin is a gender neutral name. And what's wrong with liking flowers?"

"Oh…" They all exchanged strange looks. "Right."

"He'll let me in any time soon." She smiled, nodding at them all. "I'll see you all later?"

Liv stepped forward. "Actually, we're all going out tonight. Clubbing. You feel like coming?"

"Uh," She bit her lip. "Yeah. Yeah, why not."

"Cool, I'll text you. See you later."

"Bye." She was glad that they were gone. Alexa turned to the door, and opened the letterbox. She faintly heard his shout something.

"What?" She cried, unable to hear him with the street noise muffling his voice.

Another muffled baritone shout.

"What are you saying?!" She huffed, now frustrated. "May as well talk to this." Alexa knocked on the brick wall.

That was when she took out her lock-picking kit. As a child, Alexa had always hated locks. Anything that restricted, or hid, it killed her. She needed everything open to her, to be able to see each and every detail, everyone's little secrets that they thought were safe. She was nosy, basically.

When the door creaked open, she heard banging coming from the floor of the flat. Then, Sherlock, growling out what sounded like her name – struggling. Her eyes widened, and she started sprinting up the stairs, looking around, to see Sherlock, lying on the ground, incapacitated.

"Jesus!" Alexa ran over, dropping to her knees as she got to him. "What happened?" She started loosening his scarf that was deathly tight around his neck, then taking it off completely.

He didn't reply, just stared up at her, with wide eyes, panting, his face contorted with pain.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?"

He finally sputtered and coughed, wincing as he rolled back onto all fours, and made a dizzy attempt to stand up. Sherlock's hand shook down to his pocket, producing another black origami flower.

"The, uh, milk's gone off and the washing's starting to smell." His voice was croaky. "Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago."

"Did someone attack you?"

He didn't reply. "Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her."

She frowned in concern, but respected if he didn't feel the need to talk about it. "But how?"

Sherlock picked up a folded envelope from the floor, his eyes scanning over the writing. He then unfolded the envelope and looked at the front of it. Printed in the bottom right hand corner is:

 **NATIONAL**

 **ANTIQUITIES**

 **MUSEUM**

"Maybe we could start with this." He stated, his utterances still rough as sandpaper.

"Sherlock, are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine." He replied, quickly heading out of the flat.

* * *

Alexa had never been to the National Antiquities Museum before. And a murder inquiry probably wasn't the best way to see the artifacts – but whatever. Sherlock paced around a display area whilst he interviewed Andy.

"When was the last time that you saw her?"

"Three days ago, um, here at the museum."

Sherlock focused briefly on a glass case showing some of the clay teapots. Most of them were dull but one was still shiny.

"This morning they told me she'd resigned just like that." Andy carried on. Sherlock stalked around some jade figurines. "Just left her work unfinished."

Sherlock turned to him. "What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?"

Andy brought them to the basement archive, and now turned on the lights as he led them in.

"She does this demonstration for the tourists – a-a tea ceremony. So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here."

He took them to the open stack and started turning a handle at the end to widen the gap. Alexa went to stand behind him, looking into the stack, but Sherlock had noticed something more interesting in the shadows further along the room. He walked closer to it, curiousity implanted across his face. On a stand was a life-sized sculpture of a nude woman – yellow paint had been spray painted across the front of it. The exact same symbol as the rest of them.

* * *

Raz had caught up with them. They were now walking across Hungerford Bridge, heading towards the south side of the river, towards south bank skate park. Raz led the way across the under-croft. A boy did some sort of trick on his BMX.

"Mate, that was sick!" A girl exclaimed.

"If you want to hide a tree, then a forest is the best place to do it, wouldn't you say?" He briefly turned to Alexa, then kept walking. "People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message."

Raz pointed to a particular area on the heavily-graffitied walls. "There. I spotted it earlier."

Amongst all the other paint were slashes of the yellow paint forming Chinese symbols. Some of them were already partially painted over by other artists' tags and pictures.

"They've been in here." Sherlock looked to Raz. "And that's the exact same paint?"

"Yeah."

"Alexa, if we're going to decipher this code, we're gonna need to look for more evidence."

* * *

That's why they split up. Alexa walked through an underpass, studying the posters and graffiti as she went. She was vaguely aware that this wasn't exactly the safest part of town – and she was walking around it on her own in the dark, with absolutely no defence. Trying not to think too hard about it, she came out onto the railway lines. Her torch picked up splashes of yellow paint on the sleepers and on the rails. She raises the beam of light through the trail, to a brick wall. She steps back, her mouth dropping open in surprise. The entire wall is covered with large yellow Chinese symbols.

She started running. Didn't stop until she found Sherlock. Panting, she grabbed his arm. "This is the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth. If I didn't want an instant reply I would have sent a carrier pigeon!"

"What?"

"Answer your phone! Come on, I've found something."

The two of them turn, and they run off side by side into the night, Sherlock's coat billowing behind him.

Back at the wall, her mouth fell open again, her expression aghast. "Someone's painted over it!" Sherlock shines his torch around the area as Alexa continued with her disbelief. "They have to have been here just now. It-it was here…" She put a hand to her hot face. "Five minutes ago. I saw it. They must be watching us!"

"Somebody doesn't want me to see it." He turned and placed his hands at either side of Alexa's head.

Her eyes shot wider in shock. "What are you doing?!"

"Shh, Alexa, concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes."

She felt her heart practically jump out of her ribcage. "No, what? No - why? Why?" He lowered his hands to her upper arms. "What the hell are you doing?"

Sherlock started to spin them slowly around on the spot, staring intensely into Alexa's eyes. "I need you to maximise your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?"

"Yeah, I–"

"Can you remember it?"

"Definitely."

"Can you remember the pattern?"

"Yes!"

"How much can you remember it?"

She was starting to get dizzy. "Well, don't worry, beca–"

"Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two percent accurate."

"I remember all of it!"

He frowned in disbelief. "Really?"

"Yeah, well at least I would," She wrenched herself free. "If I could get to my phone!" She produces it from her pockets. "I took a photo."

She pulls up a flash photo she had taken of the wall which showed all of the symbols clearly. Alexa passes it to Sherlock, who comes over as all embarrassment, causing her to shake her head and laugh.

* * *

Back at 221B, John was still just a bit angry. Not only did he have a court date, but he had also been abandoned. The photograph that Alexa had taken had been blown up into small sections and then printed out and all the pictures were stuck on the mirror. The numerical value of each symbol was written against it. Sherlock's eyes widened, spotting a patterns.

"Always in pairs."

Alexa and John are sat at the dining table, their backs to the fireplace. John was asleep leaning on his fist, and she was flat out with her head on the table. His voice woke them up – John responded first, Alexa deciding to shut her eyes again.

"Hmm?"

"Numbers come with partners."

She stopped listening, attempting to get off to sleep. The next few voices were muffled, and then –

"Of course! He wants information. He's trying to communicate with his people in the underworld. Whatever was stolen, he wants it back." Sherlock ran his fingers over the symbols. "Somewhere here in the code." He pulls three photographs off the wall. "We can't crack this without Soo Lin Yao."

"Oh, brilliant!" She groaned, complete sarcasm colouring her. Tiredly, they both get up to follow Sherlock.

Back at the museum, they had learnt that one of the teapots were still shining. The only way this could have happened, of course, was if Soo Lin Yao had been taking care of them. John and Alexa watch from a distance, in the shadows of the deserted museum, as Sherlock approached her.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! What did you think?**

 **Reviews are always really really apreciated, so if you have the time, please drop me one!**


	3. I've Felt Your Pain

**_CHAPTER 3: SEEN YOUR BLOOD_**

* * *

They were at a table in the museum. The restoration room to be precise. Soo Lin, the one they had come to find, now sat opposite John on a stool at a table. Alexa and Sherlock stood a good distance apart from each other.

"You saw the cipher." Soo Lin began. "Then you know he is coming for me."

"You've been clever to avoid him so far." The detective said, studying her carefully.

"I had to finish ... to finish this work. It's only a matter of time. I know he will find me."

"Who is he?" He questioned. "Have you met him before?"

"When I was a girl, living back in China. I recognise his... 'signature'."

"The cipher." Sherlock confirmed.

"Only he would do this. Zhi Zhu."

"Zhi Zhu?" John now.

"The Spider."

Putting her right foot up on her opposite knee, Soo Lin unlaces her shoe and takes it off. On the underside of her heel is a black tattoo of a lotus flower inside a circle.

"You know this mark?"

"Yes. It's the mark of a Tong."

John opened his mouth to question it, but Alexa leaned and murmured; "Ancient Chinese crime syndicate." Into his ear, before he could say anything.

"Every foot soldier bears the mark; everyone who hauls for them."

"Hauls?"

"So you were a smuggler?" Alexa asked, almost rhetoric. John's eyes widened.

Soo Lin lowered her gaze, and put her shoe back on. "I was fifteen. My parents were dead. I had no livelihood; no way of surviving day to day except to work for the bosses."

"Who are they?"

"They are called the Black Lotus. By the time I was sixteen, I was taking thousands of pounds' worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong. But I managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England." She smiled, as if nostalgic. "They gave me a job here. Everything was good; a new life."

"Then he came looking for you."

"Yes."

She swallowed. "I had hoped after five years maybe they would have forgotten me, but they never really let you leave. A small community like ours – they are never very far away." Quickly, she took a tear away with her hand. "He came to my flat. He asked me to help him to track down something that was stolen."

"And you've no idea what it was?"

"I refused to help."

"So you knew him well when you were living back in China?"

"Oh yes." She looked up at Sherlock. "He's my brother. Two orphans. We had no choice. We could work for the Black Lotus, or starve on the streets like beggars. My brother has become their puppet, in the power of the one they call Shan – the Black Lotus general. I turned my brother away. He said I had betrayed him. Next day I came to work and the cipher was waiting."

Sherlock took photographs of the codes from his pocket, and put them onto the table, looking at Soo Lin probingly. "Can you decipher these?"

"These are numbers."

"Yes, I know."

She pointed to another photograph. "Here: the line across the man's eyes – it's the Chinese number one."

"And this one is fifteen." Sherlock added. "But what's the code?"

"All the smugglers know it. It's based upon a book..."

They were plunged into darkness. It took a second for her to realise that the lights had all been switched off. Alexa's eyes widened, watching Sherlock straighten up and look around, even more alert than usual.

"He's here. Zhi Zhu." Soo Lin looked sick with fear. "He has found me."

"Sherlock, wait!" John cried out. Sherlock took no notice, charging out of the room, towards the danger at first call. John looked from Soo Lin to Alexa.

"Come here." He gestured to them both, running over to another, tiny room, opening it for them all. They got in with him hurrying them inside. That was when the gunfire started. John and Alexa shared a look.

"We have to help," Alexa started towards the door of the room.

John grabbed her arm. "I'm the soldier. I'll go. You wait here, with Soo Lin."

She frowned, but relaxed. After all, if the cipher somehow managed to evade both John and Sherlock, she would be the last line of defence. Strangely, she felt some sort of responsibility over Soo Lin, some sort of affection.

"Bolt the door after me." John told them.

She turned to Soo Lin, to see that her face had filled with dread. Seeing this, Alexa instinctively reached out to take her hand.

"It's going to be okay." She tried to smile. "You're going to be okay."

Soo Lin's expression didn't change. She didn't blame her – Alexa barely believed the words herself. How had she gotten here? All she had wanted was a flat – and now she was staring mortal danger right in the face.

There was an onset of gunshots. With each one Soo Lin got tenser, her grip on Alexa's hand tightening. All she could bring herself to do was bear the discomfort, edging on pain, as she doubted that anything more she had to say to her would bring her any sort of comfort.

The gunfire stopped. Sickeningly sudden, like a heart-attack victim collapsing to the ground. Alexa felt ill with fear. What had happened to John and Sherlock? Soo Lin took a shaky breath and slowly began to crawl out of her hiding place. On the desk, paperwork is fluttering in a slight breeze. Soo Lin crawled to the edge of the table and peered over the top of it before slowly, standing up.

"I really –"

She saw the first hit from her peripheral vision. She darted back, countering with a blind-targeted yet hearty kick.

"Run, Soo Lin!"

She got the man in the stomach. He grunted but grabbed her leg. Panicked and amateurish, she gave a further kick, now with the bottom of her foot going yet again into his gut. His hands relaxed with the pain, and she wriggled free.

He took the first chance to punch her in the face. She dodged it, feeling the side of his hand brush against his nose, but with so much force that she stumbled back, off balance. Then it was open season. He came first with a punch to the side of her rib cage. She tried to absorb the punch, taking his wrist and twisting it back, trying to push him to the floor with his own momentum. But, he had more experience, and counter-balanced this by quickly changing the direction of his arm, landing an uppercut into her jaw – but nothing of earth-shattering power.

Despite that, it managed to catch her off balance, yet again. She took a step back from the force of it, trying to direct herself. From the corner of her eye she saw Soo Lin, still stood there, just watching. She opened her mouth to say something –

He struck her hard across the face with a flat, stiff palm. The distraction had cost her the fight. It sent her entire body to the side with an immense speed, crashing to the ground, her head smacking onto the marble floor, a crack echoing out as she impacted.

The pain was immediate and overwhelming. She could barely move, her head throbbing and pulsating, as if her brain had been rattled inside her own skull.

In her haze, she heard something like Cantonese being spoken. Soft and gentle, Soo Lin was speaking. One word. Then another.

"Wait," She muttered, her vision doubling and tripling in her effort, as she attempted to see what was happening.

One more word.

She made out the sordid scene with a glimpse of clarity – Soo Lin, staring straight down the barrel of a gun.

It only rang out once. Alexa let out a cry, trying to rush forward, before collapsing back down to the floor in unbelievable pain. She looked up once more, gravity keeping her on the ground. The man – her brother – was putting Soo Lin's body onto the table, placing something black in her hand.

Alexa could only stare in disbelief as he walked away. Had she really just seen that? What was happening? What had happened? The pain was intense but the confusion was laid on even thicker.

"Oh my God," John's voice, as he rushed over to Soo Lin's body.

Alexa let out a groan, attempting his name. "Christ – Alexa!"

He ran over to her side, onto his knees.

"John?" Sherlock.

"Alexa. Alexa, can you hear me?"

"What happened?" Sherlock's voice, for the first time ever, a hint of urgency that didn't seem selfish. "I – John, She's bleeding! How? John, what's wrong with her? How badly is she hurt? _John_!"

"I'm trying to find out!"

There was a bright light in her eyes, and she almost winced away. "Head injury. Sherlock, ca –"

"The National Antiquities Museum. A head injury. We're not exactly sure, we just found her,"

Her body was being moved.

"What's…" John's hands were on her back, trying to get her to sit upright. Her head lolled backwards off her shoulders, eyes sliding closed.

"John!" Sherlock pressed, worry evident in his tone.

"I'm doing everything I can, Sherlock! If you'd stop-"

By then, consciousness was evading her. The bickering voices continued and her body was put back down on the floor, and the silhouettes changed shape and morphed into the shadows until there was one stood and one right over her. Was someone making eye contact with her?

"I tried," She rasped out.

 _I can't feel the pain anymore._

"I know. Alexa,"

 _Will it hurt?_

"I saw, I…" She faded out of consciousness.

 _Am I going to die?_

Slipped back in, "Alexa? Alexa, you need to stay awake. Alexa! John – she won't –" And fell out.

In; "I'm the doctor, but you know best! I tol-"

And out. One last time. Headfirst into the awaiting blackness.

* * *

She woke up to a breeze over her face, and a pillow under her head. The sound of birds was faint, matched almost evenly with the hum of traffic. A pair of curtains at the edge of her adjusting vision, waving inside the room. Outside, the sky was an impossible blue. The bed was unbelievably comfortable underneath her. Everything was fine. Happily, she shut her eyes, trying to enjoy the moment.

 _Wait._

All too fast, everything came rushing back.

 _Am I dead?_

She shot up with a gasp, so quickly it gave her a headrush. Her eyes wide, vision only just straightening out, brow creased in concentration.

It was then, she realised she could hear breathing. Deep, steady.

"John?"

Long, long legs, crossed, one big hand splayed holding open a book in front of his face. A mop of black hair visible above said book.

"No. So sorry to disappoint."

Sherlock. It was obviously Sherlock. He snapped the book closed, then setting it down to the side. He looked so wonderfully regal, sat like that, his hair falling perfectly, that chiselled face, those piercing blue eyes, clear as water under ice.

She frowned, squinting over, trying to concentrate on his face.

Where am I?"

"Do you not remember?"

She looked up. "I remember…" Her mouth dropped open. "Soo Lin. I – I saw her get shot."

"Yes, I know. After that."

"Nothing."

He processed this. "I see."

"That… doesn't explain where I am. A-am I…"

"Dead? No, but close. My bedroom."

"Why?"

"Doctor's orders. Sent home, under supervision. Do you not remember the hospital at all?"

"The hospital? How long have I been out?"

"Oh, only a day."

"What day is it?"

"A very early Monday morning. Six-forty-three am, to be precise."

"Six – Monday?"

She threw herself out of the bed. He rushed to her body, which collapsed as soon as her feet touched the floor.

"What are you doi-"

"No! Get off me! Get-"

"You're going to collapse, Alexa." He pressed, not letting go of her arms.

"Then I'll collapse!" She was panicking, pushing away at his hands. Sherlock released her. She landed back, sat on the side of the bed.

He stared at her, bewildered. Her body was shaking now, her palms sweating, trying to regain her breath. "I have, I have a lecture,"

"Somehow, I suspect a split skull should be enough to excuse you." He was frowning deeply, a little stirred himself at her volatile reaction. He himself didn't like to be touched, but that had been something else. It was most likely just a result of disorientation-induced panic, though.

"No, I can't miss a lecture."

"The doctor said to stay in bed for at least two days. You've only got today to go."

"No, Sherlock," Pure panic rose inside her. "You don't understand, if I don't go,"

"What? Will the university cease to exist?"

"It's my second week," She began to get up more slowly this time, rising to her feet carefully, taking a deep breath. "What are they going to think?"

She looked down at him, now silent. His teeth were set, and he was staring straight out of the window.

"Fine." He shrugged easily, perhaps a little too easy.

"Thanks, anyway."

Silence.

Casting a look in his mirror, she caught herself in the reflectionn. Alexa gasped, staring at someone she didn't recognise. Their features seemed larger, their face gaunter. Everything extremised.

"My hair!"

Apart from the bandage, her hair had been shaved off. It left only a stubble where once long dark hair grew. Quickly, she touched it, mouth hanging open.

"Sherlock!"

"Oh, yes. That." He got up, maliciously cheerful now. "The paramedics couldn't get to your injury with all that _pesky hair_ in the way." Sherlock grinned. He was enjoying watching her suffer, for whatever reason. "You got free surgery _and_ a new haircut."

"Oh, God Bless the NHS." She remarked, words slick with sarcasm.

* * *

She turned up to her lecture in a black polar-neck jumper, slightly baggy yet rolled tight at the bottom black jeans, a belt, bomber jacket, and Doc Martens. She hoped no one would take off the most important part of her outfit, however – the black beanie, covering her embarrassingly shaved hair.

The lecture was over quickly, and she was glad of it. It seemed that a concussion could really take it out of a person. What a shocker. Yet, she found it hard to not worry about her hair. If people hadn't thought she was a loner weirdo before, they definitely would now. As she sat down in her usual seat, she sighed. Wasn't university supposed to be the start of a new social life? Why didn't she actually have any friends?

 _You actually have to interact with people for them to be your friend. We've been over this._

Everyone started to pack up, and, slower than the rest, she began putting her things back into her bag.

"Liking the hat, Miss Blackwood." Professor King, smiling at her, so unbelievably warm, from his desk. The muscle of his arms were visible through the sleeves of his shirt, as put a few sheets of paper into a plastic wallet. Like he could overpower her. She started to sweat, suddenly frightened.

She smiled, trying to think of something witty to say, pulling it further down her head. "It's cold."

 _Wow. So witty, Alexa. You should be a comedian._

"Actually," He began, advancing over to her. "I was wondering if I could have a word with you."

"Oh, okay." She frowned, a streak of fear in her face.

Professor King smiled. "It's about the homework."

"Is it wrong, Professor King?"

"Oh, call me Victor."

"Victor?" Her frown deepened.

He cleared his throat. "My real name. Not the one I prefer. Ben is my middle name – I like to go by that when I'm, y'know, writing it across a board. Victor's just a bit old-man, isn't it?"

She laughed. "I think it's characterful."

"That's what people say about ugly noses." They both laughed this time. "So, anyway, back to the homework."

"If I've not understood what we were supposed to do, I,"

"Oh, come on. You really think you didn't get it?"

She tried not to look flattered. "Well it is a bit tricky."

"A bit tricky? You got them all right, not one mistake. Your method is unfaultable. No one else got even near that, Alexa. Now, I don't think I'd be doing my job properly, pushing you to your absolute limit…"

That was when it hit her. A wave of sudden dizziness, a thump of pain in her head.

"If I didn't set you extra, more advanced work. Now, how would you feel about that? I understand that university is very hard, and you have physics as well, so I don't want to overload you."

She steadied her body with a hand on a chair.

"No, that sounds great!" She was almost surprised at how chipper she managed to sound. "Yeah, that'd be good. I'd like that."

He practically beamed. "Brilliant." Then, she saw his expression falter. "Is everything alright, Alexa?"

"What? Yeah, I," She could see two Victor's. "I'm just tired, I'm alright." Alexa forced out a laugh.

"You don't look alright. Have you been out partying?"

"Uh, if, if that's," She stumbled back, and he grabbed her wrist, quickly guiding her to a seat. She suddenly felt nauseous.

"Alexa, is everything alright?"

She sighed. "I got a concussion on Saturday. It's… this stupid hat…"

"You got a concussion from a hat?"

"No – no, my head got split open, and they had to shave my head to operate, so I'm trying to cover it."

"What? You shouldn't be in lectures! You shouldn't be out of bed!"

"I'm fine, really. I'm just a little dizzy."

He gave her a stern look. Her stomach fell – he was sincerely unimpressed. "I'm going to take you to the university nurse."

"No! Please! They'll sign me off for a week!"

His mouth parted. "Do you have no sense of self-preservation?"

"I'll miss all my lectures. I'll be so behind."

Victor took a moment to assess the look of pure dread on her disorientated face. "I'll email you all the material."

"I can't learn without someone teaching me. A week in lectures is eleven hours, eleven whole hours that can never be made up for in emails!"

He shook his head, sighing. As if he was giving in to something. "Where do you live?"

"What?"

"Where do you live?"

"Just five minutes down the road. Baker Street."

"I wouldn't be doing this if you weren't possibly the most talented and hard-working student in the entire country, Alexa. But," Another sigh. "I will come and teach you, at your home, if you promise to go home and get well. Your going to strain some part of your brain – and a brain like yours should not be squandered."

* * *

Everything was sort of a blur, until she stepped outside the university, John worriedly waiting a few metres outside of the entrance for her.

"Alexa! What the hell do you think you're doing? How are you?"

"Not the best, John."

"You need to get a lie down. You aren't invincible. You've had a serious injury."

She fought off the urge to roll her eyes at the well-meaning man. "John, please just get me home. I need to sleep."

* * *

The next day. Alexa had been invited upstairs to the boys' flat, after a fourteen-hour sleep. It seemed her body couldn't get enough rest since the accident. She was now sat on a chair at the dining table in the living room, watching police officers carry crates of books to Sherlocks, as if his little minions.

"So, the numbers are references." Sherlock began.

"To books."

"To specific pages and specific words on those pages."

"Right, so... fifteen and one: that means..."

"Turn to page fifteen and it's the first word you read."

"Okay. So what's the message?"

"Depends on the book." Alexa said.

"That's the cunning of the book code." Sherlock added. "Has to be one that they both owned."

Alexa looked round in dismay at the sheer volume of books. "Should be a quick job, then?"

"Nobody asked you to help." He turned to John. "Why is she even here?"

John gave him a tired look. "She _is_ in the room, you know. And Alexa lost her hair because of this case. I think that's reason enough."

"You need all the help you can get, Sherlock." She remarked. "Plus, I'm bored. If you don't remember, I got bitch-slapped so hard my head split open, so now I can't go to school."

He glared something ferocious at her. "Some _silence_ would be a marvellous addition to this 'help' you claim to provide."

"Arsehole." The word came out under her breath, watching as he went over to the nearest crate, flipping the lid open, and sighing it the number of books inside.

Sherlock opens another crate and starts taking out books, looking at the cover of each one. John takes a handful from his crate and carries them over to the dining table and sits down. Dimmock walks in and holds up an evidence bag to Sherlock.

"We found these, at the museum." He showed the bag to John. It contained the photographs of the cipher which Sherlock had been showing to Soo Lin.

"Is this your writing?"

"Uh, we hoped Soo Lin could decipher it for us." John took them from him. "Ta."

Dimmock nodded and turned back to Sherlock, who was currently bickering about how many books Alexa was taking for herself.

"Anything else I can do? To assist you, I mean?"

Sherlock didn't look at him. "How many times do I have to ask for silence?"

 _I'm on the same level as Dimmock, then? Brilliant._

Dimmock turned to leave, biting his lip in sadness, as John shook his head apologetically. As he left, Sherlock took out a book from a crate, his face displaying recognition of the title. He put the two side by side – hard backed copies of Iain Banks' Transition. Opening one of them to page fifteen, he looked at the first word on the page.

"Cigarette." He narrated, in exasperated disappointment.

It took every inch of self-control in Alexa not to remind Sherlock about the silence he had just asked for. Slamming the book closed, he put both versions on top of the pile on the desk.

"Ah." Sherlock went back to rummaging through crates while John puts his pile onto the floor and crosses the room to get more books from a crate. Alexa began with her pile, sat cross-legged on the floor, scratching at her shaved head in concentration.

Morning came quickly. They had managed to spend the entire night in complete silence, simply working. Books were scattered – littered, everywhere. Over the table, they had even moved some of the crates. As Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair and then looked around at the crates, sighing, an alarm went off on John's watch. John huffed and buried his face in his hands tiredly.

"Are you _sure_ those crates aren't just bottomless pits of books?"

"I'm fairly sure."

"Not sure I like the uncertainty in your tone."

John had left for work in the next hour, and left the other two with the books. Strangely, the silence felt that much heavier when it was just Sherlock.

"You should probably get some sleep."

"I slept for fourteen hours last night. That's double my average for one night, so, really, I've just evened it out. I've got someone coming round this evening, anyway."

"I see." There was a minute of quiet, before his baritone broke it again. "I didn't think you had _friends_." He lengthened the last word, as if it might sting more the longer it lasted.

"No, but thankfully I have wonderfully kind people like you that make my life worth living." She muttered.

The side of his mouth twitched. "I do try."

She gave him a look, before letting out a laugh. "It's even worse that it's my lecturer coming round, too, isn't it?"

His expression changed. "The one I caught you staring at?"

"It's not like that. He's teaching me what I'm missing."

He raised his eyebrows, turning around, going back to the books. "If that's what you have to do to get your grades."

"Oh, har-har. Just because I'm a girl and he's a boy."

"No, you're a girl and he's a man. There is a huge difference."

"Could I ask you, Sherlock?"

His shoulders stiffened ever so slightly. "If it's homework help, I charge hourly."

"I'd rather die than ask you for help with my work. No, it's more… I was wondering, if I'd done something to offend you."

Sherlock blinked, stunned. "Offend me?"

"Yeah. 'Cos, I know you're supposed to be a bit of an arse at times, but you just seem contrary to anything I do. I was wondering, so to speak, what your problem was. In the nicest way possible."

"My – my problem?"

"Yeah. Just tell me what I've done."

"You… haven't done anything." He frowned at her, shaking his head.

"Then why do you dislike me so much?"

"I don't dislike you."

"Then you like me?"

He gave her a long, sympathetic stare. "Listen, Alexa. I'm… flattered, but I do consider myself married to my work, and you're far too young to –"

"I meant platonically, you absolute pillock!"

"Oh. Right. Yes."

"And?"

"You really don't remember, do you?"

Her eyes widened. "What?"

Sherlock stared at her, something swimming behind them. Then they snapped away from her. "At the hospital. The doctor said you shouldn't think too much – which, for you shouldn't be too hard."

Alexa sighed. "For someone that insults me every five minutes, you do care about my health an awful lot."

She kept her eyes on him, watching as he worked through. There was something about the fluidity, the grace of his movements, contrasted against the undeniable masculinity of his body, his torso and arms under that tight, tight shirt –

Alexa frowned in surprise at herself, putting a hand to her head. This was because of the concussion. It had knocked a part of her brain loose, and she was now… lusting over Sherlock Holmes? No. No, that wasn't her. She was still disorientated. He was stuck-up, downright mean, he didn't care for her one bit.

 _Alexa? Alexa, you need to stay awake. Alexa! John – she won't –_

It came, clear as day through her mind, his voice, strangely put-upon. Was that when she had blacked out? He sounded… worried. He couldn't have been. No, she must be making it up, her brain making up memories. She frowned, watching him in confusion now. What wasn't she remembering, that he was insistent of? There was no way he had been talking about the doctor – so what was it?

She had a shower, then her lesson with Victor, and a few hours later, she bumped into Sherlock, on his way out in the hallway.

"Where are you off?"

"Just out."

"On the case?"

"Nope."

"So just to check, you're not going to that Chinese circus that John's going to? And it's a complete coincidence that you recommended it to him?"

He sighed, turning back to her. "How?"

"John texted me." The bandaged girl gave him a grin He really does love bitching about you."

"Mm. Regardless, you can't come."

"Mm. I've got a ticket."

He stared at her. "You do remember the last time you went out on a case with me you almost died?"

"Oh, no, I forgot about the part where my skull bloody split. Come on, Holmes, it's time to crash this date."

* * *

 **Ok, so, first of all, if you're still reading... bravo to you, and thank you so much. I'm sorry about the huge huge gap in between updates but I've just been so busy!  
If you could, I would really really appreciate a review to let me know what I am doing right/wrong, what you'd like to see more of, etcetera!  
I wonder if anyone of you are beginning to get an understanding of Victor... ;)**


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